


Euphony

by canadino



Category: Gintama
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadino/pseuds/canadino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 40 year old poet stays up on his balcony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Euphony

The tips of his fingers itch so he takes a pen in hand and brings it up to the paper on his lap but at that moment, the thought flits through the gap and blows away like the breeze that blows his hair into his face. Takasugi keeps the pen tip against the paper so it blots a dark spot on the white as the ink bleeds through. He sighs and stands from the chair and looks out at the world held back by the walls of his balcony. Inspiration is so fleeting, he thinks. No wonder it’s taken sensei ten years to pen his greatest work. Personally, he thinks sensei has more left to him but Shouyou only smiles and says that he will lay down his words for a while. Takasugi flicks his lighter and burns the end of his cigarette. Fleeting, he thinks, just like the tip of a flame. Just like the flash of silverware when someone is putting it away, a loved one in the kitchen who cared so much about someone else they put time to nourish them in body and soul. A flash of silver. Takasugi tests it against his tongue. Quicksilver. He can work with this. 

The door to his apartment opens. He keeps his balcony door open whenever he’s outside, so he turns. Gintoki comes in, bearing two heavy-looking grocery bags and a frown on his face. “I saw you perched out there like a brooding vulture and knew you probably didn’t feed yourself all day, did you?”

“I had some bread at noon,” Takasugi says.  


“Noon was six hours ago. You need to look after yourself.” He leaves his scolding for another time as he unpacks his wares and lays out everything for hot pot. Takasugi finishes his cigarette outside before coming in to Gintoki preparing the broth on the stove. “You really take that starving artist title seriously, don’t you?”  


“I’m not starving,” Takasugi says. “My father made sure of that.” He remembers when he lived from paycheck to paycheck, steadfast and determined not to rest back on his laurels when his father lauded his money over him and he didn’t earn it so he didn’t deserve it; except when his father died, his father dictated he would receive everything and his estate. The will had forbade any act of charity and bound the money selfishly to Takasugi to use it on himself. He buys a big suite apartment in the middle of a high-rise where he can watch the sun set in the evenings. It faces the road Gintoki takes home from the temp agency.   


“Not everyone can drop what they’re doing and pursue their little hobbies,” Gintoki says.   


“I’m published.” It doesn’t matter that Sakamoto pulled some strings and it’s essentially self-published under a big publishing house, but it’s something. He leaves a fresh copy of his poems every time he visits his father’s grave. His talent is so revered that not even the mean kids dare to steal it from the tombstone. Takasugi walks up to counter and Gintoki’s hands are still gripping the knife firmly but the skin over the back of his hands is looking gray. Gintoki has smile lines Takasugi doesn’t think he’ll ever get. He runs a thumb over one such line.   


“What,” Gintoki says, and he doesn’t really ask. The angle of his shoulders change, sliding toward Takasugi, and Takasugi pulls away. The weight of silver on his tongue, is it cool and weighty like a coin or hollow like a ring or a light into his mouth? He rushes to jot it down, tearing himself from beside the fridge that he’s leaning against. The sounds of the knife on the cutting board resumes as he scribbles shorthand on his notepad.   


[=]

“Are you ever going to say anything?” Katsura asks him. He goes with Gintoki to pick up Kagura at school, because he hasn’t seen Kagura in a long time and he likes talking with her and he has nothing to do after catching up with Gintoki over lunch. Kagura is taking her sweet time saying farewell to her little girl friends. Gintoki knows she’s seen him but she’s milking it all before they find out that her father figure and babysitter has come to see her home safely.   


“No,” Gintoki says. “Why would I?”  


“He’s not going to say it outright. I know that much. Don’t you think it means anything that he gave you a key to his place?”  


“He would have gave it to you or Sakamoto eventually. He can’t take care of himself. He’s too spoiled.”  


“He could have, but he didn’t.” Katsura cocks his head, so his hair falls across his chest. His hair grows really fast so any haircut disappears after a few weeks. “You really don’t think there’s anything there?”  


“I’m not saying there isn’t. I’m just not going to say anything.”   


“Suit yourself,” Katsura says.   


**Author's Note:**

> I'm so glad Taka is canonly a poet, I can work with this. Thanks for reading.


End file.
